


Help Wanted

by Glory1863



Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Alternate Ending to the Ian Doyle arc, Episode s07e02 Proof, Episode: s07e01 It takes A Village, Gen, Reid rant, Spoilers for s01e06 LDSK
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2015-06-15
Packaged: 2018-04-04 12:56:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4138401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glory1863/pseuds/Glory1863
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emily Prentice may be back from the dead, but the “Help Wanted” sign is still out at the BAU and Aaron Hotchner isn’t the least bit pleased (even if he did bring it on himself).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve seen a couple of good explanations for why Reid wouldn’t request reinstatement but would still be around: But then, what if he had left? Our usually mild-mannered Dr. Reid was pretty upset about the whole Emily dead/not dead thing, and he does have other options, many more than most of us. Here’s an alternate ending to _Proof_ (s07e02).

**“. . . and you’re the only agent who has not requested reinstatement to the unit?” – _It Takes a Village_ (s07e01)**

 

“Reid, I need a word with you,” Aaron Hotchner called down to the bullpen below the railed catwalk outside his office.

Dr. Spencer Reid’s coworkers glanced up at their boss.  It didn’t take profiling skills for them to note that his perpetual scowl was even darker than usual.

Derek Morgan raised an eyebrow.  “Hey Reid, what’s up, man?”

Reid shrugged as he signed off on the last open file on his desk and added it to a large pile of completed work.  “Not a clue,” he said calmly as he scooped up the pile and strode off toward the stairs up to Hotchner’s office. 

Reid rapped twice on the office door and then entered without waiting for an invitation.  “You wanted to see me?” he asked as he unceremoniously deposited the stack of files on his boss’s desk. 

“Reid, what is this?”  Hotchner held up a single sheet of FBI letterhead containing a couple of lines of typed text and Reid’s precise signature. 

“It seems clear enough to me.  It’s my resignation from the FBI.”

“Why?”

“Awhile back you said that the Bureau was downsizing and realigning assets and that we might want to investigate other options.  I did.”

“Back then, you asked why anyone would want to.”

“I did, but that, as they say, was then.  This is now.  I find that my circumstances have significantly changed.”

“This is all about the Prentice is dead/not dead thing, isn’t it?  You know we had to convince Ian Doyle that she was in order to protect her.”

“I know I’m not Doyle, and I know you lied to me.”

“You’re not the only one who didn’t know, Reid.  Rossi, Morgan and Garcia didn’t know, either.  Hell, even Strauss didn’t know until she got the $600,000 bill from Bethesda.  The fewer who knew, the better.  The less likely it was that someone would slip up.  You know that, too.”

“I know I ramble when I’m really interested in something or when I’m nervous, but I also know that I’ve never compromised an investigation by releasing information you or Gideon wanted held back.  You don’t have an eidetic memory, but you know I’m telling the truth.”

“It’s not just not talking about it, it’s about keeping up the illusion . . .”

“You didn’t think that I would continue to feel sad – never mind look it - because I might never see or hear from a friend again even if she wasn’t dead?  In case you haven’t noticed, Morgan is the social butterfly, not me.  I don’t have a large collection of friends.  It hurts to lose even one.”

“Say what you will, make any excuse you want, but what I think this is really about is that JJ and I knew something that you didn’t.”

“Seriously?  That’s the best you can do?  Jennifer thinks I’m vain about my profiling skills and you think I’m only worried about a gap in my knowledge base.  You act like not knowing that a friend and trusted colleague wasn’t murdered is on the same level as not knowing the Billboard Top 40 every week for 50 years.

You know I have trust issues.  You know I have abandonment issues.  Between my father and Gideon – well, you know why.  Despite all of that, you still thought it was a good idea to lie to me.  Well, whether you believe it or not, the issue for me is one of trust.  I can no longer trust you.  I can no longer trust Jennifer.  I can no longer trust Emily.  This is what happens every time I let my guard down, every time I think that this person will be different from the others.  In the end, you all just can’t resist the opportunity to have a good laugh at my expense.    

How am I supposed to work with a boss and colleagues who didn’t trust me and whom I can no longer trust?  We’re out in the field in a dangerous situation and I have to wonder if I’m being told the truth.  I have to stop and think about what you might not be telling me and why.  Sorry, that doesn’t work for me. 

How do you suppose that LDSK case in the ER at Lutheran General would have gone down if I’d thought for even a second that you were serious when you ranted about my incompetence while you were kicking me around rather than seeing it as the diversion it was so that I could get to your back-up piece?  Think about it.  Yeah, really think about it because - and you should trust me on this, you really should - it wouldn’t go down now the same way it went down then.”

“Reid, you sound like Jack when he’s having a tantrum.  I don’t accept that behavior from him, and I sure as hell won’t accept it from a supposed adult like you.”

“You know, I wondered why you thought it was OK to lie to me, and that comment right there tells me all I need to know.  You and this team might value the knowledge I can provide – after all I’m your personal walking, talking, oh so life-like computer – but you don’t respect me as a person.  I’m ‘the kid’, even though technically only Rossi and Strauss are old enough to call me that.  From day one, Morgan has called me ‘pretty boy.’  Morgan is a proud, adult, black male, so I’m guessing the only person who wouldn’t get decked for calling him ‘boy’, pretty or otherwise, would be his mom – and probably Garcia because she can get away with calling him just about anything.  And while we’re talking about Garcia, she calls me ‘Junior G-Man’ like I was Robin to Eliot Ness’s Batman in some crossover fanfic with _The Untouchables_.”

“Crossover fanfic?  What the hell . . . ?”

“Gideon told me it was time to leave when things didn’t make sense anymore.  Well, they don’t.

When I was a kid, I thought I’d find a cure for schizophrenia by the time I was 25.  I didn’t, but it’s not too late for me to go to medical school and still take my shot at it.

After that case in New Orleans, I promised Gideon that I would never miss the plane again without notice.  I’ve given my notice.”  Reid pulled his holstered gun and his FBI credentials out of his messenger bag, placed them on Hotchner’s desk then turned on his heel and walked away.  He paused at the door.  “Tell the others whatever you want.  I know you will anyway – and they’ll believe you.”  The door closed solidly behind him.

“Reid,” David Rossi called out as the young man passed his open office door on the way to the elevator.  Reid took a few more steps, then backtracked.  “Are you coming to dinner tonight at my place?  I want to make sure I have enough espresso and cannoli.”

Reid managed a wry grin.  As angry as he was with Hotchner and the BAU, he still had respect for Rossi who had become a quasi-surrogate father figure to him.  Rossi he would probably miss, but it couldn’t be helped.  The situation otherwise was intolerable.  “Sorry, Rossi, I can’t make it.  I have a flight to catch.”

“Is your mom OK?”

“My mom?”  Reid was puzzled.  “She’s fine.  Well, as fine as you can be when you’re a paranoid schizophrenic.”

“So, you’re not going to Vegas?”

“No, New Haven.  I have to do an interview up there.”

Rossi gave Reid a speculative look.  “Have a good flight, Spencer.”

“Thanks.”  Reid flashed a quick smile, then called for Agent Anderson to hold the elevator and trotted away.

Rossi sighed.  He’d heard that Yale had been Reid’s safety school back when the kid was only 12.  Sad that he’d found a need for it now and that the safety he sought was from the BAU.

Rossi kneaded the back of his neck.  He could already feel the tendrils of a killer headache slowly and insidiously working their way up.  He’d had more than an inkling and for more than awhile that Emily was “undead.”  He should have called Aaron on it then and there, should have pushed him for a plan for dealing with Reid when he found out because there was no way that that was going to end well.  He hadn’t done that, of course, trusting that his colleague had the sense to take Spencer’s unique needs into consideration and to do the right thing.  Reid’s confrontation with JJ let him know how wrong he’d been. 

The thought of JJ, obviously Reid’s closest friend since the usually self-contained young man had chosen to open up to her in his grief, purposefully misleading him for weeks really pissed Rossi off even though he understood the purported reason for it.  She should never have been put in that position or Reid, either.  What the hell had Hotch been thinking?   

The thing about Reid that always fascinated Rossi, beyond the kid’s high-powered intelligence, was his almost unfailingly gentle manner and general sense of optimism in spite of all that he’d seen and personally experienced.  To hear that Spencer had even considered relapsing on Dilaudid and putting all of that at risk made Rossi feel physically sick in a way that crime scenes rarely did anymore.  

He’d try to keep in touch with Spencer if the kid would let him.  There were always excuses to be in Connecticut – Personal appearances for lectures and book signings, business for the Bureau, side trips from New York, cigar aficionado conventions, whatever.

Yes, Emily Prentice was back from the dead, but the “Help Wanted” sign was still out at the BAU, and Aaron Hotchner wouldn’t be the least bit pleased, even though he’d brought it on himself.


End file.
